


They Met by Chance

by Nordic_Breeze



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Bandits & Outlaws, F/M, Making Love, Mild Smut, One Night Stands, Poignant, Romance, Stranger Sex, Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:46:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24344485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nordic_Breeze/pseuds/Nordic_Breeze
Summary: They met by chance, in a quiet saloon. All it took was one exchange of look, followed by a swift turn of head and a distinctive change of complexion. And so begins this tale of two strangers brought together, like ships adrift in a storm.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s), Arthur Morgan/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 50





	They Met by Chance

**Author's Note:**

> A lil something that came to me one day and wouldn't leave me in peace. I posted this on Tumblr a few months ago when I was still active there. As I'm so slow with my other stories I decided to clean this up and share it here as well.
> 
> The female character is unnamed and can be read as an OC or reader-insert.

They met by chance, in a quiet saloon. All it took was one exchange of look, followed by a swift turn of head and a distinct change of complexion. And she knew. 

She was there to deliver payment for refreshments her family had ordered for her sister’s wedding. Waiting for the change, she registered but paid no heed to the brawny feller in a black, leather hat to her right leaning over the counter with a beer in his hand. As she received her coin, their eyes met. And the world stood still.

In that breath of a moment, she saw in him the same emotions that stirred in her. 

And she knew.

He made no attempt at engaging her in a conversation, nor she with him as is proper decorum for any a young, modest maiden in this day and age. She turned to the door. Halfway there, she gave in and threw a glance over her shoulder. Her heart picked up pace. He was looking at her though he was quick to turn away, his ears a bright red. 

Her fingers curled on the swing doors, hoping, yearning for a hand on her shoulder and a basso voice asking her if she wanted something to drink. A basso voice she heard all right, but it was that of an impatient customer, trying to get inside.

She mumbled an apology and stepped aside, ignoring the rude comment not out of reserve but out of distraction of mind. If she walked away now, she'd spend the rest of her life wondering what could have been had she stayed. That she knew.

Her legs carried her back to the counter. She ordered a lemonade to a casual, offhand remark of being thirsty after a speedy walk in a tone a little too shrill to sound like the random change of heart she’d meant for, all while standing close enough to the stranger a conversation could be initiated with ease, though not so close as to be conspicuous.

Minutes of awkward silence, bottles whirling between jittery fingers, frequent, small sips of beer and lemonade and fleeting glances ensued. It was very conspicuous indeed. Until a flippant opine from the bartender spurred a conversation. It was one that started of slow and stuttering yet lasted well into the small hours, long after the sun was gone and their bottles emptied. As the saloon became crowded with late-night patrons, the tumult of a hundred conversations and the jovial tune of a piano had them draw closer to each other.

Mustering courage with a deep inhale, she dared to compliment his eyes with a smile. He tuned bashfully away, to which her heart went racing and all thoughts of decorum was gone. The tune from the piano changed to a solemn, slow tone. Riding high on the wave of newfound boldness, spurred by the mighty tides of rapt infatuation for this alluring stranger with mesmerizing eyes and a basso voice hoarse and gruff, she held out her hand and asked him for a dance.

She took his hand and guided him to the floor where she found the small of his back and pulled him close. Her head fell against his chest, and she could hear the hitch of his breath.

They spent the night together. Not something she had planned for or had the habit of doing. And neither did he, judging by the flickers of insecurity in his skirting gaze, self-conscious, timid smile, nervous chuckles, and trembling of hands. She closed her soft-skinned, small hand tenderly over his large and calloused, telling him in an earnest voice she wanted him. That she’d never wanted anyone like this before. His trembling ceased, his walls crumbled, and as his heart softened, something else hardened. Their fingers entwined and they gave in to their desires, and each other.

Once he’d shed his timidities and hesitancies, he couldn’t stop kissing her, touching her, nor did he want to. That night, he made love like it was the first and only time he’d ever feel the soft warmth of a woman’s skin. As if he’d never before been blessed by the heaved, panting breaths of a mezzo-soprano voice in response to the touch of his hands.

She’d seen and heard enough to understand the kind of life he led. But tonight, was theirs. A few, short hours, theirs and theirs to treasure alone, where nothing and no one in the world existed but them. The night she gave her all to a stranger, body and soul.

Later on, she would remember with bittersweet fondness how his gravel, rumbling voice turned mellow and soft by the mere touch of her hand. She remembered every word he’d uttered in awe, in esteem, in lust – under his breath in the moment of passion, brittle and trembling afterwards, overwhelmed both by pleasure from release and by gratitude from the love and tenderness she had showered upon him. She remembered with vehement yearn how his breath grew heavy by the reveal of her skin under damp clothes. His warmth, his hands, kisses soft and tender from lush lips. And the wistful goodbye the following morning.

“I ain’t a good man,” he had said with eyes burning with longing and regret, followed by a drawn-out embrace. The next day she found a gift-wrapped box on her porch. Inside, a necklace with a tiny lily pendant. And an unsigned note that could only be from one, a note she would read every day before sleep, with the tiniest of hope that one day, they would meet again. 

~*~

Months later, she was at a jewelry store in Saint Denis, looking for something for her niece’s baptism. She was peering through the glass at the top of the counter, her fingers sweeping over the pendant always around her neck, when a loud voice behind her stirred her sharp.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is a robbery.”

Four terrifying men came barging in with masks to cover their noses and mouths, forcing the staff and customers to their knees with verbal threats and cocked hammers. One guarded the door, two emptied drawers, counters and shelves and the fourth held open a bag and a barrel to people’s heads, followed by a command to give up their valuables or to lose their lives, staff and customers alike. A fierce blow from the rear of the aggressor’s revolver awaited whomever dares to disobey.

She concocted a scenario of the stranger from the saloon bursting in to save her, to save them all from these savages. The reverie gave her but a tiny comfort. Until she came to realize, _he_ was one of them.

And her heart dropped.

The bag was now in front of her. She stood frozen. A verbal threat ensued, one that froze mid-sentence as their eyes met. A mesmerizing blend of blue and green that had once made her rapt with infatuation stared back at her.

Her fingers curled around the chain and without hesitation she ripped of the necklace he’d once gifted her and threw it in the bag alongside her purse, her eyes burning with disillusionment and rage. His eyes were burning with something else. 

For a fleeing moment, the memory of his warmth rushed through her mind. A poignant ache teared through her chest, and tears wet the skin under her eyes. 

More tears were shed that day. 

**Author's Note:**

> I guess I have a thing for scenarios like these. How it goes from here it's up to you to decide. I would like to flesh this out more and see what story lies underneath here but other projects take precedence.


End file.
